Wind Driven

In silhouette
In silhouette

After a couple days visiting with my daughter’s fianc√© in the hospital (treated and released by now, thankfully) I drove home from Moscow, Idaho through some of the most beautiful country I’ve ever seen, the Palouse region of eastern Washington State. I’ve driven it many times over the course of my daughter’s college years at the University of Idaho in Moscow, and I never tire of the serene rolling hills unique to this area.

The Palouse is marked by hill after rolling hill that has been cultivated for over one hundred years. The deep, rich top soil is ideal for dry-land farming of wheat, barley, lentils and canola. The scene is ever changing. The beauty of the vista is not dependent upon season here, as every sort of sky perfectly complements the patchwork of fields stretched out before you, whether in cultivation, under harvest or lying fallow. In the winter the snow sweeps across the hills turning the scene into a white-on-white landscape, interrupted by the occasional tree or abandoned outbuilding. In spring the hills green at various times and in a myriad of hues according to the art and science of farming. In late summer the ripening wheat bends and ripples like a beautiful sea of grass, first bright as it bends in one direction, then taking on a silver hue as the light hits it just so when the shifting breeze bends it another. Late summer and then fall is a time for brilliant sunsets as the dust and chaff from the harvesters fill the air and the wind carries it high overhead.

On this drive, heading north on US 195 from the Pullman/Moscow area, I was traveling in the magic time of late afternoon. The sun followed me and played hide and seek through the swiftly moving, broken cloud cover. The partly cloudy sky added another layer of light and shadow to the patchwork of the Palouse. Then I saw the wind farm. The impossibly large wind turbines turned lazily against the stormy sky. In one direction the white of the machines reflecting back sunlight against the black of the clouds. In another, giants were silhouetted against the sun and the shifting clouds. I’m never without my iPhone and love taking pictures of the Palouse.

I even managed to capture the beauty of the wind and the turning in a short video.

A stormy day on Washington's Palouse
A stormy day on Washington’s Palouse
Wind driven
Wind driven
Along the way
Along the way



The Palouse region of Washington is one of my favorite places
The Palouse region of Washington is one of my favorite places
Storm clouds and turbines
Storm clouds and turbines



If We Were a Body


I wrote this, then I asked God to show me where I lack love…And He did.

If We Were a Body

If we were a Body–
No part unnecessary
None worthy of being overlooked–
Would she still sit
Isolated in the crowd
a touch
a smile
a glance that says…
“I notice you”
If we’re a Body?

If we were His Workmanship–
One great Temple
Established on a living Cornerstone
Fitted together
Chiseled, scraped and smoothed just so
And meant to be a Beautiful Place
A Holy Temple welcoming the Glory of God–
Would this little one be
Judged too ugly to fit within the
Beautiful framework intended for God’s dwelling
Left out
Wanting only to feel part of a whole–
If we were His workmanship?

If we were His Bride–
Redeemed from the slave market
Dressed in a robe of His making
Perfected in His love–
Would she still see herself
Soiled and ashamed?
Yearning to be welcomed
To the Groom’s banquet table
But feeling
If we were His Bride?

If we were a Family–
Adopted as longed-for children
Chosen, not born
Inheritance freely shared
By the only One with any right to
His Glorious Riches–
Would a little brother
Beg for scraps under the table
Like an unwanted orphan
From an unclean land–
If we were a Family?

If He were our Peace–
Making One from many
The Reconciled from the Separate
Bringing near those of us who were far away–
Would their faces still be
Pressed against the glass
Looking from the outside
Treated as strangers…
“Who are They?”
“What do you think They want?”
“Maybe if we’re quiet, They’ll go away”
If He were our Peace?

If we really were His Body–
Built up and connected by
Blood and Tears
Nourished with the Bread of Life
Washed in Living Water–
Would they feel overlooked
Passed over
Desperately longing for an invitation…
“Stop and stay”
“Eat and drink”
“Rest and grow”
…that never seems to come?–

If we really were His Body?